The Dying Detective: A Play in Two Acts
by Mysterylover17
Summary: The Dying Detective rewritten as a stage play. With some original characters. Please RR


A/N and Disclaimer: Hey all! This idea came to me one night after reading Jeremy Paul's The Secret of Sherlock Holmes. The characters of Holmes, Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Smith and Mary all belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story of the Dying Detective is also his. The idea to adapt this story into a play is mine! LOL! The back story of Savage's life belongs to me. That being said, I hope you enjoy the play!

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

_Rooms of 221b Baker Street. Cluttered with all the familiar paraphernalia. Doorway to enter stage Right. Immediately to right of Entranceway is the sideboard which holds the gasogen and, tantalus. To the left of the sideboard is one of the numerous bookcases, dining table and HOLMES's chemical bench. To left of chemical bench is HOLMES's desk and another book case. Stage left, sofa, HOLMES's chair, WATSON's chair, fireplace and WATSON's desk. _

_HOLMES is seated in his chair, feet drawn up staring moodily into a dying fire._

_WATSON enters stage left. _

WATSON: Good morning Holmes.

HOLMES: _(moodily)_ What is so 'good' about it, Watson? Pray enlighten your slightly less observant friend.

WATSON: _(tiredly)_ The sun is shining brightly Holmes, the fog has finally lifted...

HOLMES: _(angrily interrupts)_ The fog has finally lifted? Hah! Since when, my dear fellow, does the sun and fog affect my work? Or perhaps, _(stares at WATSON over the stem of his pipe) _you find this morning 'good' because your wife, the honorable Mrs. Mary Watson nee Morstan returns from her holiday.

WATSON: _(sits in his chair and opens a newspaper) _Yes, old man, Mary does return home today. But I do not see what her arrival has to do with—

HOLMES: _(interrupts) _There are no cases any more Watson! The days of the great cases are past! Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality! As to my own little practice, _(throws up hands in disgust)_ it seems to be degrading into an agency for recovering lost led pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched bottom at last!

WATSON: _(puts aside his paper and looks at his friend)_ Holmes, you cannot mean that!

HOLMES: I do old man. I almost regret killing Moriarty,_ (at the mention of Moriarty's death, WATSON stiffens)_ for he was a genius, a true criminal mastermind. When he was alive there was never a dull moment in my profession. Now, however, the petty crimes that are committed have motives so thin that a Scotland Yard detective can see through them!

WATSON: Holmes—

HOLMES: Watson, do you remember the Roylott affair, a case I believe you entitled 'The Speckled Band?'

WATSON: Yes, Holmes I remember.

HOLMES: That was a case Watson! A case where we were faced with a most fearful and ruthless opponent. He proved my theory that when a doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession! Roylott struck deeper. The circumstances that surrounded the death of his one daughter put me on the wrong scent for a ridiculous amount of time.

_(excitement level raises as HOLMES relives the past cases)_

I pray you also to remember the strange case of the Copper Beeches, which Miss Hunter brought to us. There again, we saw the criminal mind at work! Rucastle was certainly a twisted fellow, imprisoning his own daughter!

WATSON: Do not, my dear fellow, forget the case I entitled 'The Hound of the Baskervilles.'

HOLMES: A trifling case really, but not without its own interesting features. Stapleton was certainly extremely intelligent, having his wife pose as his sister to draw young Baskerville onto the moor at night.

There too was the interesting case which you entitled 'The Red Headed League.' The case positively reeked of Moriarty! And the damnable thing, he was never even suspected of being involved!

There was also the case of Mr. Melas and the emaciated young prisoner. That was a case worthy of my attentions!

WATSON: What of the 'Bruce-Partington Plans?'

HOLMES: Humph! That case practically solved itself! Damn! _(HOLMES instantly rises and crosses to his desk where he lifts a stack of papers and scatters them on the floor. He removes the Morocco case which contains his syringe and 7% solution of cocaine from his desk draw.)_

WATSON: Holmes, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times—

HOLMES: _(opens the case and gives WATSON a tired smile) _My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. Only then can I dispense with the artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.

WATSON: _(skeptically) _The only unofficial detective?

HOLMES: The only unofficial **consulting** detective. I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are out of their depths—which, by the way, is their normal state—the matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. _(HOLMES sighs and rolls up his shirt sleeve. He moves to inject himself when he is interrupted by a knock at the door.) _Damn! _(Hurriedly he replaces his syringe and rolls down his sleeve.) _Come in!

_Enter Mrs. Hudson from stage right. She is carrying a tray with a tea setting laid out. She moves to the dining table._

WATSON: Good morning Mrs. Hudson.

MRS. HUDSON: Good morning Doctor, Mr. Holmes.

HOLMES: Mrs. Hudson, would you mind? You are terribly underfoot! _(HOLMES eyes his Morocco case)_

MRS. HUDSON: I beg your pardon Mr. Holmes. Doctor, has your wife returned yet?

WATSON: She is returning from her holiday today. I must meet her at Victoria at ten o'clock.

MRS. HUDSON: Ah that is good Doctor. You can enjoy breakfast. It is a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates good food. _(MRS. HUDSON glares angrily in the direction of HOLMES)_

HOLMES: Humph! _(glances at WATSON. Sarcastic tone) _Yes, you must prepare to meet you dear wife.

Her siren call can successfully wrest you from my side. Are you certain you have time to stay for breakfast old fellow? You do not want to keep Mrs. Watson waiting.

MRS. HUDSON: Mr. Holmes!

WATSON: Pay him no mind Mrs. Hudson. He is in a foul mood because his work has been extremely limited as of late.

HOLMES: Humph! Limited indeed! There are no crimes any more!

_MRS. HUDSON puts down the tray and exits stage right. Watson glares at HOLMES._

WATSON: I shall ignore your comments regarding Mary, and give them as much weight as I would a grain of salt. However, I cannot overlook your behavior toward Mrs. Hudson. You were deplorably rude to your landlady Holmes.

HOLMES: Rude indeed!

WATSON: She is a long suffering woman! _(WATSON moves to the dining table and pours himself a cup of tea.) _

HOLMES: How is she 'long suffering'?

WATSON: Not only is her first floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters—

HOLMES: My clients.

WATSON: _(continues on, doggedly, ignoring the interruption) _But you show an eccentricity and irregularity in your life that must surely try her patience.

HOLMES: _(miffed)_ What eccentricities?

WATSON: _(points to the scattered papers) _Your incredible untidiness, your addiction to music at strange hours _(points to the violin)_

HOLMES: It helps me to think!

WATSON: _(continues ignoring HOLMES's interruption. He points to the patriotic VR written in bullet pocks on the wall) _Your occasional revolver practice within doors, which has put twenty four holes in Mrs. Hudson's wall.

HOLMES: That was in the name of research! I wrote a monograph distinguishing the different—

WATSON: Twenty four bullet holes was research?

HOLMES: No, the first bullet hole was in the name of research. Since that caused an unsightly mark in the wall, I simply transformed it into something more aesthetically pleasing. It is also very patriotic. Victoria Regina, ruler of our fine land. And my dear Watson, you exaggerate by eight holes. There are only sixteen in the initials.

WATSON: _(shakes his head) _Let us not forget your weird and often malodorous chemical experiments.

HOLMES: They are also in the name of research! Many times, my experiments have saved men's lives!

WATSON: That does not excuse you from filling the flat with smoke.

HOLMES: Peshaw my dear fellow! There is nothing wrong with some chemical fumes!

WATSON: Every single doctor in this metropolis would disagree with you. Also Holmes, there is an atmosphere of violence and danger which hangs around you, making you the very worst tenant in London!

HOLMES: _(laughs mirthlessly at WATSON's statement)_ Oh bravo my dear fellow! Yes, perhaps I am, as you so poetically put it, 'the very worst tenant in London,' but you forget that my rent payments are princely. You also forget that danger is part of my trade.

WATSON: That is no excuse—

HOLMES: While my dear doctor, you have noted some of my flaws, you neglected to mention the way I treat Mrs. Hudson. I do have a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in my dealings with her, as well as my dealings with all women. Although I dislike and distrust the sex, I am always chivalrous in my treatment toward them.

_The sound of a doorbell is heard off-stage, interrupting HOLMES._

HOLMES: _(angrily) _Mrs. Hudson, the door!

WATSON: _(to audience) _Remember, he is gentle and courteous in his dealings with women.

HOLMES: Mrs. Hudson! _(growls)_ Where the devil is that woman? She can never be found when she is needed. Mrs. Hudson!

WATSON: _(to audience) _He is always chivalrous also.

_Sounds of walking up stairs is heard. MRS. HUDSON enters carrying a telegram addressed to HOLMES. _

MRS. HUDSON: Telegram for you sir.

HOLMES: _(mood changes as he snatches the telegram from MRS. HUDSON)_ Ah, thank you Mrs. Hudson. You are invaluable!

MRS. HUDSON: _(startled)_ Why thank you Mr. Holmes.

_MRS. HUDSON exits stage right. HOLMES immediately opens the envelope and reads the letter. His eyebrows furrow and he appears in deep thought. _

WATSON: A case old man?

HOLMES: _(nods absently)_ Yes, a case. Hmm...

WATSON: May I be of any assistance?

HOLMES: _(fingers the telegram, his syringe is long forgotten) _Yes...no, no Doctor your assistance, while always invaluable, is not needed in this trifling problem. Besides, _(smiles grimly and consults his pocket watch)_ It is nearly a quarter past nine. You do not want to keep your lovely wife waiting.

WATSON: Yes but Holmes—

HOLMES: _(ushers WATSON to the door)_ No buts my dear fellow. Here is your hat and frock. Give my regards to your wife, there's a good fellow. Goodbye old man!

_WATSON is pushed to exit stage right. HOLMES, telegram still in hand, walks over to his bookcase and removes one of the large red bound books with the letter 'S' clearly marked on it. Idly he flips through the pages. _

HOLMES: Ha! Here it is! Savage! _(one of his long nervous fingers travels down a page near the beginning of the book.) _Victor Savage, born 1869 to wealthy family in Sussex. Hum! Poet of some notable success. Frequents the Gentlemen's Club on the Strand. Married to Mrs. Anne Savage, nee O'Brien age 24. Poor Irish girl immigrated to London, met Savage—this reads like one of those romances that Watson is so fond of! _(slams book closed and once again reads the telegram.)_

My dear Mr. Holmes, I was given your name by a friend, Irene Norton, who said you were one of the most intelligent men she was ever privileged to know. She assured me that you had intellectual prowess far exceeding even the most seasoned Scotland Yard Inspector. I hope, my dear sir, that you will be able to use those powers to help me. If it is not an inconvenience for you, I will call upon you this morning at nine thirty. Thank you Mr. Holmes. Anne Savage.

_HOLMES props his foot on the sofa and leans forward, telegram in his hand, under his nose. He stares stage right. His eyes take on a far-away look as he stares into space. _

HOLMES: Irene Norton, nee Adler, I have not heard that name in some time. Savage, Savage, why the deuce does that name sound so familiar?


End file.
